


camellia

by espercially



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, M/M, Neighbors to Friends to Lovers, fluff with like 2 seconds of angst to get these pining bitches to actually get together, neighborly shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:20:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29558325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/espercially/pseuds/espercially
Summary: He can’t say he remembers all that much about number two high school setter Miya Atsumu, especially not after several years in university, but he certainly didn’t take the man for the stalker type.In which Kiyoomi learns about the man who lives in the apartment above him.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 4
Kudos: 71
Collections: Among Friends Server Valentine's Day Fic Exchange





	camellia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vergaan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vergaan/gifts).



> happy very late valentine's day ver <3333

Wind whips through Kiyoomi’s hair as he exits the gym. The first practice of the season has blessedly ended on time, and he’s rather looking forward to changing into lounging clothes after a warm shower. The wind’s a nice level of coolness, surprisingly so for the summer air. It’s this kind of weather that Kiyoomi likes best: not too hot, not too cold, and perfect for avoiding sweating.

The only thing that is a bit unnerving about the walk home is the fact Miya Atsumu seems to be stalking him. 

He hadn’t left when Kiyoomi had, but he must’ve been watching, because Atsumu’s doing a rather bad job of following him. He’s about two blocks behind Kiyoomi, just close enough he can continue watching where Kiyoomi goes but never close enough for Kiyoomi to see him. 

It’s...suspicious, to say the least.

Kiyoomi had first noticed when he’d stopped to read an advertisement in a supermarket window and had seen Atsumu out of the corner of his eye. He’d watched Atsumu pause and then jump behind a building to avoid being seen, which had of course just made him all the more visible. 

As Kiyooomi nears his apartment building, Atsumu is still following him. His heart beat speeds up, because what the  _ hell.  _ What idiot stalks a new teammate on the first day? He can’t say he remembers all that much about number two high school setter Miya Atsumu, especially not after several years in university, but he certainly didn’t take the man for the stalker type. 

There’s really only one way for Kiyoomi to confront this, before he ends up murdered in his own apartment or something.

He enters the apartment lobby and quickly presses back against one of the support pillars off to the left of the door, a blessedly large and obtrusive pillar that hides him from the view of the street. Kiyoomi can feel his blood pounding in anticipation of what he’s about to do. 

Deep breaths. This is certainly better than the alternative of ending up as a headline tomorrow morning when they find his body.

The glass doors slide open once again, and Kiyoomi waits until Atsumu has walked past him before speaking.

“Miya.” There’s a layer of anger he hadn’t expected in his own voice, but it startles Atsumu far more than it startles him.

Atsumu turns guiltily, avoiding Kiyoomi’s eyes. “O-Omi-kun, hey.”

Kiyoomi’s eyes narrow even further as he takes a step away from the pillar and towards Atsumu, who looks like he’s about to run back on to the street. “Why are you following me.”

It’s not a question. It’s a statement, and it’s full of annoyance. 

Atsumu gulps, still refusing to meet Kiyoomi’s eyes. “Whaddaya mean?  _ Following  _ you? No offense Omi-kun, but you’re really not the kinda guy I would follow home.”

Kiyoomi bristles, “So you  _ do  _ have stalker tendencies?”

Atsumu splutters, face reddening, and Kiyoomi wants to scream. Of course this idiot stalks people on his day off, his personality sucks too much to get a date the real way.

“No! Omi-kun, listen, you’ve got it--”

Kiyoomi grabs a fistful of the front of Atsumu’s shirt, tugging him closer. He can feel the vitriol in his own eyes as it breaks down whatever bridges Atsumu was desperately trying to mend. 

“Don’t lie to me, Miya. Get out.”

Atsumu blinks. “Huh?”

“Get. Out. Of this building.” Kiyoomi says this for his own good as much as Atsumu’s, he’s about ready to strangle the blond and he really doesn’t want that on his record.

“Miya-san?”

Their heads swivel at the same time as they face the nice older lady who works as a receptionist in the lobby. She’s holding a rather large package, nearly half the size of her small body.

“Your package came earlier, I didn’t want to leave it in the hall and risk one of the other residents hurting themselves.” She smiles deeply, completely unaware of the tension in the room.

“O-oh, yeah, thanks Ami-san.” Atsumu goes to retrieve his package as Kiyoomi releases his hold on the shirt, frozen dumbly in place. 

He’s just made a fool of himself, hasn’t he?

Atsumu returns to where Kiyoomi stands by the pillar and flips the package to show the delivery label.

_ Miya Atsumu _

_ 23-891  _

_ Apt. 405 _

Kiyoomi’s blood stills even more, which he didn’t think was possible.

“You live in the apartment above me?”

\--

It shouldn’t be surprising, really. The apartment building is rather close to the gym and it’s decently priced for single renters, cheap if you were to have a roommate. He’d had more than enough money to get a place for himself, and hadn’t regretted it yet.

In the two weeks since practices started and since he’d almost gotten a teammate arrested, Kiyoomi had opened his door in the mornings to find various random gifts.

The day after The Mistake, he’d found a single black coffee (mostly cold by that point) and a post-it note with horrendous handwriting that said “sorry -- take this for apology.” Kiyoomi had tossed both the coffee and the note, but had at least stopped to appreciate that he  _ probably  _ wasn’t genuinely being stalked if Atsumu didn’t know his coffee order.

A few days after that, he’d been awoken by a knock, rather rude for 6am. He’d slammed the door open in his robe and slippers, and Atsumu had actually  _ squealed.  _

“Omi-kun, ya look like a criminal.” He’d managed to get out once he caught his breath.

“Hilarious.” Kiyoomi had simply wanted to go back to sleep and get this sorry excuse of a neighbor out of his doorway. “What do you want?”

“Uh, just wanted to ask if I’d gotten your coffee order right. I wanna get something you actually like, after all.”

Kiyoomi blinked, “You had to knock on my door at six in the fucking morning to ask  _ that? _ ”

Atsumu’s brow furrowed, “Well, yeah, how else would I--”

Kiyoomi slams the door in his face. 

Though, he doesn’t get the luxury of going back to sleep. Instead, he’s kept awake by his brain’s inability to shut up at the thought of someone going out of their way to get him coffee in the mornings. Kiyoomi had spent half an hour that morning deciding if he wanted to tell Atsumu he owned his own coffee machine or not; the idea of having Atsumu come by his apartment every damn day wasn’t...great, but the idea of having Atsumu be his personal errand boy was quite intriguing. 

Later that day, after practice, Kiyoomi had debated several ways of giving Atsumu an easier way to contact him than knocking on the front door before his morning run. He could just ask Atsumu for his phone number straight up, that’s probably the most logical way. Although, it would also lead to the largest number of unforeseeable results; his teammates might think he was trying to be smooth and he’d have to play it off and get laughed at, or Atsumu would say no immediately, or Atsumu could just give it to him and not think anything of it.

It  _ is  _ normal for professional players to have each other’s contact information, right?

He certainly couldn’t just go up to Atsumu and say, “I want to give you my phone number.” It was out of the question. Absolutely not. He’d never hear the end of that one.

He could give Atsumu a slip of paper with his number on it. Which seems like the safest option, until he realized it could also be the one taken most out of context. He wouldn’t put it past Atsumu to make some snide remark like, “Wow Omi-kun, figured out we were neighbors and it was love at first sight?” Kiyoomi would lose any sense of dignity he had.

It really would be the easiest way, though. This method would have the least amount of actual contact with Atsumu, and the smallest chance of embarrassment. He might as well just get it over with.

Kiyoomi was scribbling down his number on a post-it note in their locker room when he heard Atsumu howl in laughter. He turned, more in annoyance at the noise than anything, and saw Atsumu holding up his phone to Bokuto, who joined in the laughter almost immediately. Hinata rushed over to look, and Kiyoomi had felt the headache forming already.

Meian had walked in and asked what had been so funny, and Atsumu’d answered with tears rolling down his face.

“Sunarin airdropped me this funny ass video, Meian-san. Watch this, oh my god.”

Meian had watched it, and had simply stared at the trio of giggling fools in front of him. 

“Why exactly is this funny? Who is Sunarin, and how are they close enough to airdrop something to you?” He frowned in disapproval, “You know non-members aren’t allowed in right now, Miya.”

“Yeah yeah, he’s waitin’ outside for me. He’s my brother-in-law. Comin’ over to my place after so we can think of some stupid prank to play on ‘Samu.”

As fast as Kiyoomi’s mind had wrapped around at the fact that Miya Osamu was apparently  _ married,  _ it hadn’t missed a very simple fact that Kiyoomi had simply not considered before. It’s the perfect opportunity to give Atsumu his phone number -- they’d both be in their apartments, not speaking to each other, not even able to see each other. Kiyoomi wouldn’t even have to worry about the rest of the team getting the wrong idea.

A truly perfect opportunity.

Several hours later, when Kiyoomi was comfortably sitting on his couch as the sun went down, he had snapped a picture of his own handwritten note: “ xxx-xxxx-xx Sakusa Kiyoomi” and had airdropped it to “ATSUMU FAT ASS FAT **** MIYA.”

He’d heard something heavy smack the ground above him, then a loud yell, followed by some muffled screeching, and the unmistakable smack of a hand slapping a cheek. 

Kiyoomi had slept remarkably well that night.

++++

A few days after that, with Atsumu essentially blowing up his phone with pointless questions like --  _ “favorite food,” “favorite kind of sandwich,” “favorite onigiri flavor,” “what kinda hobbies u got,”  _ \-- Kiyoomi found himself walking home with Atsumu. 

Kiyoomi always made it a point to never end up leaving at the same time as Atsumu, desperate to avoid any sort of misconception. He’s not really sure  _ why  _ the idea of the team thinking he and Atsumu were together was a bad thing- it’s completely allowed. Honestly, it would be far worse if the team thought Kiyoomi was dating Bokuto. His skin crawled at the thought. 

He really wasn’t opposed to the idea of dating Atsumu, except for the fact that he had a decent amount of shame. If he were to date someone with the maturity of a twelve-year-old, Motoya would never let him live it down. It had always been a standard of Kiyoomi’s; he hated immaturity and stupid puns and most things people found funny.

He couldn’t seem to place why he wasn’t absolutely disgusted at the idea of dating the most immature person he knew.

Kiyoomi was dragged out of his thoughts by Atsumu hollering. He couldn’t even whip his head around before a hand latched onto his upper arm, dragging him to a street vendor selling taiyaki. 

“Omi-kun, what flavor do ya want?” Atsumu asked excitedly, not taking his eyes off of the filled pastries in front of him. 

It’s probably a good thing though, because it meant Atsumu couldn’t notice the blush spreading up to Kiyoomi’s ears. 

Not that Kiyoomi was noticing it, either.

He was completely focused on figuring out what flavor he wanted, not that he could eat. Practice had worn him down to the point where he was pretty sure he’d hurl if he ate anything in the next hour.

“Just...whatever you get, I guess.” Kiyoomi finally answered after spending far too long just staring at Atsumu’s dumb smile.

Atsumu turned and met his eyes with a raised eyebrow. “Ya sure? I’m probably gettin’ chocolate.” 

“That’s fine.” 

_ That’s so  _ you.

Atsumu paid, despite Kiyoomi’s protests, and the pair continued their walk home, munching on taiyaki as they went.

Atsumu rambled about different kinds of serves he had wanted to perfect, and Kiyoomi had let him, knowing it’d be far easier to let him talk than try to interrupt him. He’d eventually transitioned to asking Kiyoomi about practicing serving with him. Apparently, Kiyoomi had the exact kind of jump Atsumu was looking to perfect. 

“So you just want to sit there and watch me serve a bunch of times?” Kiyoomi had asked.

“Yup!” Atsumu took a bite of his taiyaki, chocolate filling dribbling down the side of his cheek. 

Kiyoomi hadn’t been able to stop himself from whipping out a napkin from his napkin pocket in his bag (because  _ yes,  _ of course he had a napkin pocket, who doesn’t?). He’d swiped it across Atsumu’s lips before he could even think. 

He certainly hadn’t thought about the fact that he’d felt Miya Atsumu’s lips, even if it was through a napkin. He couldn’t think about that, because then his brain would do stupid things like look at his lips or imagine what they would feel like on his own lips.

Atsumu looked over at him with wide eyes, and Kiyoomi froze in place. They’d stood like that -- inches apart, completely still, holding eye contact -- for far too long, before turning back awkwardly. Neither had really been sure of what happened or where the tension had come from, but it had dissipated by the time they got back to the apartment building. 

Kiyoomi had gone for the elevator immediately, expectantly turning for Atsumu to join him.

Instead, he’d watched Atsumu standing in the lobby through the closing doors, one hand in his jacket pocket and the other waving good-bye.

The last thing Kiyoomi had seen before the doors closed completely was an uncharacteristically soft smile. Which Kiyoomi pretended hadn’t sent a shiver up his spine.

++++

Their overly friendly interactions hadn’t stopped there. 

  
  


There’d been the time Atsumu begged Kiyoomi to help him walk his neighbor’s dog, whom Atsumu was dogsitting while their neighbor was out of town. Kiyoomi had been a bit excited for that one, but only because of the dog. He didn’t particularly care about Atsumu, of course. He was just very excited to see the large golden retriever, and if Atsumu was there, then so be it.

Kiyoomi certainly hadn’t thought about how he’d gone on a walk with more than one puppy that night.

  
  
  


There had been the time that Atsumu ran out of laundry detergent and had practically let himself in Kiyoomi’s apartment to do his laundry. Kiyoomi wouldn’t have let him in normally, but the moment he’d opened the door the rank smell of Atsumu’s  _ assuredly  _ long-overdue laundry forced him to turn away and gag. Atsumu had weaseled his way in and was shoving his things in the washing machine before Kiyoomi even caught his breath.

They might have had some tea in the meantime, chatting and lounging at Kiyoomi’s small kitchen table.

Kiyoomi might have been very grateful to Motoya for convincing him to buy that extra table chair, which was meant for Motoya’s use.

Kiyoomi might have been kept awake by the fact that Atsumu’s clothes would smell like  _ him  _ for the next few days.

  
  
  


Then there had been the time when Atsumu had been noticeably upset the entire practice. Kiyoomi’d felt conflicted; it wasn’t particularly his business how Atsumu felt, but he wasn’t playing at his best ability. His sets were far too close to the net for Kiyoomi’s taste. Therefore, he’d figured it was at least his business when his setter wasn’t in a working state. 

He’d dragged Atsumu back to their building and practically wrestled the key out of his pocket to get into Atsumu’s apartment. Atsumu had apologized briefly for the mess before collapsing face first onto his couch and not moving. 

Kiyoomi hadn’t wasted a moment, bugging Atsumu as soon as he locked the apartment door.

“Out with it. What’s wrong with you?”

“Damn, Omi-kun, can’t give a guy a break, huh?” Atsumu mumbled into the couch cushions.

Kiyoomi huffs. “You are not yourself. I can’t play my best when the setter I’m working with isn’t at his best. I can’t hit tosses that don’t come.”

There had been a poignant moment of silence before Atsumu spoke again, propping himself up on his elbows. 

“Are ya busy right now, Omi-kun?”

“Obviously not. Would I be spending my time with you if I had plans?”

Atsumu sat up fully this time, sitting backwards on the couch to peer at Kiyoomi. Kiyoomi still hadn’t moved from the genkan, his shoes untied but still on.

“You sure you didn’t rearrange plans just to spend time with me?”

He must’ve been feeling a little bit better, because his voice had that teasing lilt again. Regardless, Kiyoomi didn’t let it go. He was a man on a mission.

“Doesn’t really matter,” he declared, “I’m here now and I’m going to be here until you get yourself out of this funk.”

“Aww, Omi-kun,” Atsumu chirped out, “don’t go makin’ me think ya actually care about me now.” 

Kiyoomi finally shrugged his shoes off before he approached the kitchen with minor apprehension. He wasn’t really sure what awaited him in that room. If there were nasty dishes all over the counters, he was going to have a major problem. 

“You haven’t answered my question, Atsumu.”

Atsumu hummed in response, turning around to sit on the couch the correct way. 

Kiyoomi made his way into the (blessedly mostly clean) kitchen, rolling up his jacket sleeves in preparation. There might not have been any dishes, but there was a mild layer of dust, and probably some other nasty bits behind the coffee maker that Kiyoomi hadn’t gotten to yet. 

Nobody ever cleaned behind their coffee maker.

A voice called from the other room, “I got dumped, Omi-kun.”

Crouched below the kitchen sink, Kiyoomi froze. He hadn’t even known Atsumu had been dating anyone in the first place, but it certainly didn’t make sense for someone to dump Atsumu. If anything, Atsumu seemed like the type to  _ do  _ the dumping. The setter seemed like the type to be a rather good boyfriend. If he cared enough about someone to spend time with them when he could be practicing, they must be pretty damn important. Kiyoomi had no doubt that Atsumu would go about a romantic relationship with the same vigor that he did playing volleyball. Maybe even more, since it was in fact more than just Atsumu involved.

There was no doubt in Kiyoomi’s mind that Atsumu would love his partner with everything he had and more, which is why it made no sense that Atsumu had been dumped.

Who in their right mind would dump Atsumu?

“I see,” Kiyoomi stood up, kitchen rag and cleaner in hand. “I guess you’re, uh, not used to that?”

Atsumu scoffed as Kiyoomi started about cleaning the kitchen. He might as well get it as clean as possible  _ before  _ using it, so he’d have as little as possible to clean when he was done making whatever he could figure out to make with the meager ingredients Atsumu had.

“No, Omi-kun, I’m not used to that. That was,” He hesitated on the next word, “my first relationship.”

Kiyoomi froze again, his hand still against the counter.  _ Is he serious? _

“I know it’s kinda lame, but I...I really did like him, Omi-kun,” Atsumu continued. “I kinda, yknow, expected it to last a little longer.”

Kiyoomi couldn’t help himself; he popped his head around the kitchen entrance, strange levels of worried about his friend. At this point, Kiyoomi would indeed consider them friends, no matter how begrudgingly he’d come about it. He couldn’t see Atsumu’s head, but he watched as Atsumu kicked a blanket down towards his feet, his leg lifting above the back of the couch. 

“It was only two months, Omi.” Atsumu said, a little quieter, “My first time datin’ someone, and they could only stand me for two months.”

_ I could stand you for far more than that.  _

Kiyoomi cautiously returned to the kitchen, realizing that Atsumu didn’t really want any advice, just to rant. He picked up the spray bottle and rag again, cleaning as Atsumu complained about the sack of dirt he’d called a boyfriend for the last two months. 

He never said his name, but Kiyoomi had learned many things about the man: he was shallow, he was only in it for the fame of being with an athlete, and he hadn’t given a damn about Atsumu.

Kiyoomi had felt his blood boil with the water in the pot on the stove. He’d cleaned up, and was in the process of making some basic ramen with scrambled eggs. Atsumu’s pantry hadn’t given him much to work with. He’d hated this nameless man immediately, as anyone who would dump Atsumu was surely a fool, but his anger had only grown as Atsumu continued talking about him.

The single recurring thought in Kiyoomi’s head had been  _ I could never treat you like that.  _ It had been followed by  _ you deserve so much better,  _ as well as several other thoughts that Kiyoomi refused to acknowledge. It’d only been two weeks; he couldn’t afford to get caught up just yet. 

Kiyoomi had brought the ramen out to the living room for Atsumu. Only to discover that he’d fallen asleep on the couch, half covered by a blanket, his face tear-stained. 

Kiyoomi hadn’t heard him cry, which only made his heart ache more; just how used to crying silently was Atsumu? How many times had he done that in his life?

He hadn’t given himself time to dwell on that, though, leaving both bowls of ramen covered in the fridge. At this point, he couldn’t do anything but try to get his mind off of thinking. Thinking was the most dangerous thing he could in Atsymy’s apartment.

Kiyoomi had left a few hours later, after cleaning the rest of the public spaces, not wanting to disturb anything in Atsumu’s bedroom. He figured that the least he could do for Atsumu was clean his place, since that’d be the last thing on his mind for the next little while. That’s what he’d want someone to do for him if he were in such a situation.

He’d sent a text before he even left the apartment for his own, and he reread it once he locked his own door.

**[to Miya Atsumu] I’ll be back in the morning to check on you. Ramen is in the fridge, and remember to take your sheets out of the dryer.**

He sent one more before he climbed into bed.

**[to Miya Atsumu] Good night, Atsumu.**

\--

Several months later, well into the playing season, Kiyoomi knocks on Atsumu’s apartment door. He’s strangely nervous, which doesn’t make any sense. He’s prepared for this. Hell, he’s had weeks to prepare for this, since Atsumu couldn’t stop talking about it. It’s not like tonight is going to be all that different from their usual night. Ever since that day Atsumu had cried to him over an ex who didn’t matter, they had been a bit inseparable. 

He’d decided that night that if no one was going to show Atsumu what love felt like, Kiyoomi might as well try. He wouldn’t say he loved Atsumu, certainly not yet, but he would say that he cared for the man. It’s not every day that someone went out of their way to make friends with him, usually it was the opposite. 

If Atsumu could push through Kiyoomi’s prickly walls, then the least Kiyoomi could do was thank him.

Besides, the more the two had hung out, be it on walks home from the gym or carefully propping each other up when team dinners got a bit rambunctious, the more Kiyoomi had found himself enjoying the other man. Far more than he had ever thought he would. 

It had scared him, the first time Kiyoomi had realized it:  _ I really like him, huh.  _ He hadn’t slept well that night, kept awake by flashes of blond hair and golden brown eyes. He’d been terrified to tell Atsumu, and had simply decided he wouldn’t.

It had only been a month or so since Atsumu had been dumped, after all. He wouldn’t have been ready to move on, especially not from a first relationship. There was no way he’d be ready to genuinely try something with Kiyoomi.

As it turned out, he hadn’t needed to worry about telling Atsumu, because he hadn’t needed to. Two weeks ago, on one of their typical walks home from the gym, Atsumu had grabbed his hand. No warning. When Kiyoomi had looked at him, unasked question on his face, Atsumu had simply grinned.

“I like you a lot, Omi-Omi, and if it’s okay with you, we might as well start callin’ this what it is.”

Kiyoomi had felt his heart still, but his brain had apparently kept working, as his body had moved to pull the blond in for a kiss.

It had been simple, sweet, nothing to write home about. But Kiyoomi would be absolutely damned if Atsumu hadn’t pulled away with the biggest smile that Kiyoomi had ever seen.

So now, dragged out of his thoughts as Atsumu opens the apartment door, Kiyoomi immediately pulls his boyfriend in for a kiss. Atsumu doesn’t even get the chance to fully open the door before Kiyoomi pushes it open and brings Atsumu’s face to his own. 

They stay like that for a moment, just basking in another’s soft touch.

Kiyoomi can’t think of anywhere he’d rather be. 

Atsumu pulls away with a quiet giggle, leaving Kiyoomi’s arms wrapped around his waist.

“Hello to you too, Omi-Omi. Bit excited, are we?” Atsumu asks as he locks the door behind him. 

“Pardon me for wanting to take my boyfriend on a real date.” Kiyoomi doesn’t miss the way Atsumu’s face reddens at the word ‘boyfriend.’

Atsumu hums, swinging their interlocked hands between them as they exit the apartment building. They walk mostly in silence, content to simply touch. Kiyoomi’s never been the biggest fan of clinginess, but finds he doesn’t care when it’s Atsumu. He will never mind if it’s Atsumu.

It’s late September, nearly fall. The air’s finally starting to cool off, and with the sun down like this, it’s what Kiyoomi would consider nearly perfect weather. Hopefully a good start to a perfect evening.

They enter the French-style restaurant Kiyoomi had made a reservation for. He’d had to make a reservation because of just how little free time the team had during the season. That’s why it’s taken a full two weeks of dating to actually go on their first date.

They’re led to an outdoor balcony, just as Kiyoomi had requested. They’re mostly alone, with an older couple sitting on the opposite end of the balcony, also as Kiyoomi had hoped. Atsumu takes a seat next to a large arrangement of flowers on a windowsill-style planter. Kiyoomi can’t help but think that the pretty flowers, even with their colorful array of petals, have nothing compared to Miya Atsumu. 

“Y’know, Omi-kun, I never took you for the romantic type,” Atsumu remarks off hand, as he skims through the menu.

Kiyoomi cocks an eyebrow, watching the way Atsumu’s brow furrows as he struggles to read the French titles. “There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me yet, Atsumu.”

Atsumu grins at him over the menu, “Yeah there is! I guess I’ll just have to find out more stuff over more dates, huh?”

Kiyoomi feels like an absolute sap as he feels his face melt into a soft smile.

“Yeah, I suppose you will.”

They’ll be going to go on those dates as long Kiyoomi can still move, because Atsumu deserves nothing but love, care, and affection.

And what kind of boyfriend would Kiyoomi be to not give him his everything?

**Author's Note:**

> thank u may for my Life for pulling an all nighter to beta this for me. i Love You.
> 
> i have never written sakuatsu a day in my life LMAO but i'm pretty okay with this one :')))))
> 
> feel free to come bug me on [ twitter ](https://twitter.com/espercially) if ya want!


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